‘I hadn’t told you yet because I didn’t want you to be part of the plans. Too dangerous.’

I twist my head round as far as I’m able without disturbing the other women in the bunk. ‘They will kill you,’ I whisper.

‘We will die either way,’ Greta replies. Then a pause before she adds, ‘Elsa, we’re dead in here anyway. This is not living. Don’t answer me now. Think about it, but it’s happening tonight and I want you to come.’

Only a few minutes later, our day has begun. Bright lights, screaming and shouting from the kapo, the woman in charge of our barracks. Dragging ourselves out of bed.

I feel like a woman of ninety years old. Every cell in my body aches: with hunger, cold, muscles too weak to move.

But move we must and, half an hour later, we are out in the yard for the first roll call of the day. My feet are bleeding and covered in scabs as I force them to drag me across the uneven concrete so I can stand in a puddle for hours. Sometimes it is less. Usually more. One time, they kept us out here all day. There were three changes of guard during that roll call. Three times they came to work, did their full shift and went home.

Home.

Just imagine.

They will find any reason to keep us standing out here longer. If someone hesitates before calling their number: start again. If there is any discrepancy in the numbers: start again. If one person does not call out their number loud enough: start again. If the guards are bored and feel like toying with us: start again.

I have seen people literally die in front of me during these roll calls. When your body has nothing inside it to keep you warm and not enough strength to keep you standing, it is hard to resist the relief that would come from giving up. Giving in. Release.

But today, something other than hunger is making me dizzy. A new form of release.

Escape.

Can we do it? I would trust Greta with my life. I know that. We are each other’s lives. And I know that she is right, I will die here whatever happens. So what do I have to lose?

And just like that I have decided. I will join them.

My body feels alive with hope and longing. The feeling lasts for – I don’t know – maybe minutes? Seconds? I want it to last longer. But this is Auschwitz and we are not allowed hope. The mere suggestion of it is enough for punishment.

And the punishment for this hope, it seems, is instant.